Resurfacing
by ambroisa
Summary: What if Allie wasn't the one to see the newspaper? What if it was the other way around and Noah was the one to see it?


Title: Resurfacing

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in The Notebook from either the movie or the book. They belong to Nicholas Sparks, Nick Cassavettes, and New Line Cinema. I'm just a fan.

Summary: What if Allie wasn't the one to see the newspaper. What if it were the other way around and Noah was the one to see the articles in newspaper.

Author's Note: I thought of twisting the story around a bit and I'm not exactly sure where I'm taking this yet. Any feedback greatly appreciated.

Chapter 1  
  
The early hint of dawn spread out across the sky. He let out a sigh of relief for his sleepless night had finally ended, and he could move on with his daily activities as if nothing had happened. He would put on the same worn-out shirt, make himself his first cup of morning tea, and take the boat out, just as he did every morning. Today was no different he would remind himself. Except no matter what logic he told himself, his mind would always wander back down the same path. With every stroke of the paddle, her name swept across his mind. The image of her name printed in black ink was all he could think of. Allie Hamilton. _His Allie_. With an ache in his heart, he remembered that she wasn't his Allie anymore. Soon she would never be his Allie again. Maybe she never was his anyway. It was so long ago. Too many years had passed widening the distance between them. There were occasions when she emerged in his mind, but only in fleeting moments. Every time he returned to his senses, he hid the moments deeper and deeper. Her name was buried inside somewhere untouched for the last year. Then yesterday, everything was brought to the surface again.  
  
Yesterday, Noah was returning from his daily row along the river when he found Martha's car pulling up toward the house. Martha was a good woman. She was gentle, compassionate, and understanding. Life hadn't treated her in the fairest of ways, but she dealt with everything with understanding. She didn't smile often, so when he saw her lighted face that morning, he knew something was different. She could hardly contain herself as she slammed the car door and walked to meet him halfway as he approached the house.  
  
"Noah! Guess what I have?" she smiled. Taking a look down at her hand, he saw a familiar bundle of paper in her grasp.  
  
"The paper?" He gave her a raised eyebrow hinting that there's nothing special about the weekend paper. "You bring me the paper every weekend." He was grateful to Martha for doing so. It was simply too easy for him to retract into his own world. He often missed what was happening elsewhere beyond his house, workshop, and river. Sure he had radio on when he worked, but it was only background noise.  
  
"Not just any paper. Look at this!" she pointed to a picture in the lower right corner of the front page. Staring back at him was his reflection. He almost cringed at the sight of himself but his eyes quickly found the beauty that stood behind him in the picture. His house. It was the one main achievement in his life. Building the house from the ground up consumed his life. "You look great." He knew Martha was beaming beside him, yet he couldn't help but feel saddened. The house represented more than just a house or an accomplishment. More than anything it was a tribute, a dream to something that might have been, a dream of a life with the one woman. That dream still stirred inside even if he didn't want to admit it.  
  
"No, I look terrible...I think I was drunk." He smirked bitterly. When he sensed Martha sudden disappointment in his reaction, he added, "But the house looks good, doesn't it?" and winked at her.  
  
She nodded back and said, "You should be proud. It made the front page with all the important news. News about rebuilding the sewage plant....uh..." she read aloud while skimming down the front page, "and oh!... a wedding that's being hailed to become one of the most extravagant events to hit Charleston for years...for a Mr. Lon Hammond..."  
  
Noah continued to let Martha read him the frontpage stories as he moved back into the house toward the kitchen. "Hammond as in Hammond cotton?... no wonder it'll be extravagant." He said as he poured himself and Martha some tea that had been brewed in the morning.  
  
"Yes, that's right. And his beautiful bride to be...a Ms. Allison Hamilton..." Noah nearly choked on his cup as he froze against the kitchen sink. It couldn't be. He must have heard wrong. There have been times in the past when he thought he saw her, or thought he heard her laughter, but he was mistaken. Was he mistaken this time too?  
  
Timidly he asked, "Who?" The crack in his voice surprised him.  
  
"Allison Hamilton? Her family is apparently very wealthy...do you know her?"  
  
The name ringed inside his ear as he felt his throat constrict. "uh, why would I know her?... I don't exactly move in those circles you know." The tea suddenly tasted cold and bitter as he swallowed it.  
  
"Oh I didn't mean that. I just meant if you've heard of her family...I haven't." She stared back at him in bewilderment. She had no idea what was going on in his head. She had no idea what he thought about most of the time he was so closed off. He slowly started to shake his head, no.  
  
A long silence settled over the kitchen until he finally broke it. "I'm uh....I'm sorry Martha. Thank you for bringing the paper, but I really need to start on...on...work now...I have....uh...a project that I'm behind on....so...." and he trailed off. There was a hurt in Martha's eyes but he didn't notice. All he noticed was the knot inside his stomach.  
  
He recounted the events of yesterday morning as his arms took on a life of their own rowing speedily down the river. Harder and harder he rowed as years of repressed feelings started to unravel. His breathing became rhythmic and heavy. As much as he tried to move on, he had failed miserably. The newspaper was back in the house on top of the piano. He didn't play the piano, but kept one anyway. Details like that nagged at him. _Why? Why did he keep a piano if he didn't play? Why did he build a room overlooking the river perfect for painting? Why? Why didn't his letters get returned? Why couldn't he forget?_ Those questions ate at his head and his heart. He kept on rowing all morning until the sun was directly overhead. His muscles had passed the point of numbness. Beads of sweat poured down his face blurring his vision, but he saw what he needed. Looking up toward the clear sky, he saw a pair of birds fly overhead and suddenly it became clear what he had to do. Closure would never come otherwise.


End file.
